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Henry’s eyes started to shimmer with tears. I could sense he was now well aware of what he’d done wrong. While I was confident that I was doing the right thing, it still killed me all the same to see him upset. There was no denying that I had a soft spot for the kids, one that made it a touch hard at times to bring down the discipline hammer when I needed to.
“I’m sorry!” With that, the tears started flowing. Henry opened his arms and hugged me as tightly as he could, as more tears continued to fall.
It was one of the hardest parts of being a parent. Henry was ashamed of what he’d done, and understood it was wrong but all the same he needed to be punished.
“I wanted to see the trail,” he said. “But then I fell!”
“I heard you met a nice lady out there. You’reverylucky that someone was around to help you out.”
“I know. She was really nice. Her name was Aubrey.”
Aubrey. So that was the name of the woman who owned Downing Farm. I’d been meaning to head over there at some point to introduce myself, but it ended up being one of those tasks that I kept putting off. Her saving our boy was a hell of a way to get to know one another.
For now, I needed to figure out what to do with the little guy in front of me.
“Alright, alright,” I said gently as I swept Henry’s hair back away from his damp eyes. “You’re in trouble, make no mistake. But for now, we need to get you washed up and ready for dinner. How about we head upstairs for a bath and a change, then we get some grub?”
The idea of punishment now far into the future, Henry’s face lit up. “Can I have pie too? And ice cream?”
“Maybe. We’ll see. Come on.”
I hopped off the couch, taking Henry’s hand and turning to lead him out of the room. Once facing the entry to the den, I realized that Henry’s and my conversation had a listener. Marcus, my twin brother, stood at the entrance, leaning against the side with his arms crossed over his chest and a typical stoic expression on his three-day-old scruff covered face.
Marcus was a serious man, though not without a sardonic sense of humor that came out from time to time. Judging by the expression on his face, this didn’t appear to be one of those occasions. Marcus shot Henry a hard look as he approached, one that caused the little guy to grip my hand harder.
“So much for tough love, huh?” Marcus asked. “A bath and some pie? Hardly seems the best way to hammer home that he’s done something wrong.” He spoke softly enough for Henry not to hear.
“Hey, he feels bad enough already.”
“He should. We were all scared as hell that something had happened to him. And he’s going to do it again unless he completely understands that he did something wrong.”
“He gets it,” I said. “We can punish later. Besides, you want me to send him to his room without Thanksgiving dinner?”
“It’d sure send the message home,” Marcus muttered.
“Dude, he’s five years old, not fifteen. I’ll sort him out later.”
Marcus snorted, clearly displeased with my call. “You’re soft on the twins. Need to be a little tougher if you want them to learn.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I replied, a tinge of sarcasm to my voice.
Though the four of us often had different opinions on how to best raise our niece and nephew, we were united in our love for the twins, and that was far greater than any disagreements we might have when it came to the finer points of raising them.
“Come on, big man,” I said. “Let’s get upstairs.”
Before we could take another step, however, a voice called out to us.
“Where are you going?”
An instant grin formed as I turned to see the big, smiling face of Hattie, her eager expression framed by a tussle of sandy-blonde hair. She ran over to me, letting out a squeal as she threw her arms around Henry.
“Well, hey there, little lady!” I said, bending down and joining in on the hug.
“Hey!” Henry called back, not a big fan of the hug. “Let me go!”
“Where did you go?” Hattie asked. “I was scared.”
“I was in the woods.”
